


be brave

by Val_Creative



Series: IT Movies Fic-Palooza 2019 [21]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Canon Gay Character, Canon Rewrite, Coming Out, During Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Humor, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Movie: IT Chapter Two (2019), Nonbinary Character, Queer Character, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content, Stanley Uris Lives, Stanley Uris Never Takes A Bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Richie’s trauma about being attacked as a gay kid resurfaces as an adult, leaving Stanley to console him. Stanley has something to say about his own identity as an adult.





	be brave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glove23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glove23/gifts).

> Requested by Glove23 (AO3): "stan alive for another and gimme that good good stozier content. idk like talkin abt being queer and how richie shouldn't hide who he is, stan queer and nonbinary." We love the feelings. And for the record, Stanley's pronouns are he/him because us nonbinary folk can in fact use she/her or he/him instead of they/them (I'm they/them personally). 
> 
> ((Want a request for IT? I'm doing 100-1000 word fics of any friendship or romantic ship + any prompt until I feel like quitting. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a friendship or romantic ship + prompt. You need to specify if you want SFW or NSFW (for 18+ readers only). Please check [Full Rules](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1478582). The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))

*

It's happening all over again.

That _fear_. That regret and shame.

Richie's vision blurs from the warm gush of tears. He hurtles over park benches and potholes, not daring to look back. One or two vans swerve, exiting the morning's parade-route, all but hitting into Richie sprinting off like a berserk Juniper Hills inmate.

By some chance of fate, he ends up in Stanley's path while veering into Costello Avenue.

Stanley—with his dyed black curls, his knitted, oversized sweaters and grim outlook on their survival once they assembled in Derry—Stanley blocks him, grabbing Richie's shoulders and trying to yell over Richie's babbling, nonsensical hysterics. To get answers out of the pandemonium.

It happened like this once before—Richie, thirteen and sob-screaming, collided into a thirteen-year-old Stanley wandering out of Rite-Aid. He had woken from blacking out in the City Center, running full-speed from the towering, brightly painted Paul Bunyan who didn't chase him this time. Running from his insecurities and _fear_. Stanley didn't know what to do then, clasping Richie's arms as the other boy screamed about Pennywise and Henry Bowers and the arcade, about not wanting to die.

_THE STATUE_ _—THE STATUE_ _—!_

"The statue—" Richie gasps, lowering his head and shaking it repeatedly back and forth. "The fucking _CLOWN_ was there—"

"Richie, take a breath," Stanley orders.

"It was _GODDAMN_ there! I swear to God and Jesus and Mary and all of the _FUCKING_ saints—_IT_ was there—!"

"I know." Richie gazes up in astonishment, lips parting, blinking out more tears. "I know. I believe you," Stanley consoles him, letting go of one of Richie's shoulders to dig out his own token. A battered, old pair of binoculars lost in Memorial Park.

*

"IT came at like a big bird. A big Amazonian bird."

Bassey Park gleams under the late July sun, full of parents and children in strollers as well as full-body harnesses. Dogs, trained enough to not need leashes or harnesses, catch Frisbees in mid-air. Greying men take their fishing rods to the canal.

Stanley walks with Richie to a hill, overlooking the park and elm trees.

"I remembered what you did about the giant eyeball from The Thing when we were in the sewers," he admits. "So I yelled at IT to go away. That IT wasn't real. That I didn't believe IT was real." Stanley's teeth, professionally white, expose from his smile. "IT disappeared."

"Holy shit…"

Richie flops down onto the dirt hill, hanging his head back and closing his eyes.

Stanley tucks his hands into his pockets.

"You know the Sleepy Silver Dollar? The bar that used to be where Harris Avenue goes through Center Street?" Richie asks. "Some nutcase took an axe to everyone there one night. Well, not everyone—some people weren't his targets." Richie looks up over at Stanley appearing unnerved. "He didn't resist arrest. Some of the guys in Derry broke into his cell and hung him there."

He points to the colossal, old elm across the water.

"Great story, Rich," Stanley replies dryly.

"Just—listen, man. It wasn't the last time." Richie lowers his finger, going exasperated. "A lot of people have been hung on that tree. Mostly thieves and child diddlers." Stanley rolls his eyes at Richie's phrasing, crossing his arms. "But then, Derry hung two more men. No one knows their actual names. They didn't live here." He watches as Richie's expression tightens with dread. "Ben said they were… _together_. Together as a couple. That's why they had to die according to this hellhole."

Stanley carefully sits himself down, reaching for his friend's back as Richie shakes, the tears returning to glisten on his jaw.

"I've been scared to death, Stan… I don't… I don't want anyone _to know_."

"Well, if they're going to kill you for liking men—then they're going to have to kill me too," Stanley whispers. He continues looking ahead as Richie's brow furrows. "I'm queer, Richie. And not exactly _binary_ in the sense of genders."

"… I don't know what that means."

A deadpan look from Stanley. "Are you deliberately being obtuse or—?"

"No, I literally _didn't know_ you could be more than a woman or a man," Richie informs him, wiping off his face. "That's good. That's really _good_, Stan. I didn't know you were—_I didn't know_. Shit. Shit, if I had known you were too—"

"I didn't know until I was older," Stanley declares. His hand rubs in slow-moving patterns into Richie's upper back, feeling his tension heighten. "None of this is your fault, Richie." Somehow hearing this from someone he trusts only makes Richie's throat lump. "You don't have to hide who you are. I get why. It just seems like you're beating yourself up over it."

Richie exhales, his lips twitching. "I don't wanna _die_ over it, Stan."

"Lucky for you, that's not how you're dying today. Not with the psychotic sewer clown running around."

A sudden, loud laugh escapes Richie. The way Stanley says it so honest and cynical brings a rush of feelings back. He turns to Stanley, embracing him, feeling Stanley's mouth landing on his cheek. His mouth on Richie's mouth.

It's only for a brief, friendly moment, but long enough for Richie's brain to go straight into the gutter. Not sewer—_FUCK the sewers_—Stanley has a firm and muscular build under that dumb, expensive sweater, and Richie would not be opposed to getting thrown down and reamed on Stanley's cock until they sleep through Mike's so-called final battle.

_"Oh~"_ Richie hums, smirking. _"Well then~"_

Stanley rolls his eyes again, good-natured. "Not on your life, Trashmouth," he says dully.

"Hey! I'm a good kisser!" Richie protests, observing his friend beginning to walk away without him. "_GREAT_ kisser! Just ask my ex!" He rolls onto his knees, leaping after Stanley, not terrified to acknowledge his interest.

For once.

*


End file.
